A Shot at Love

by T. B. Markinson

  “What about Harry?”

  Josie massaged her forehead. “Now you want me to think about Harry?”

  “You like her, don’t you?”

  I’m in love with her. “Yes, I do.”

  “Doesn’t she want you to stay?”

  “She thinks I should take the job if that’s what I want.”

  “How very noble of her.

  “It’s very British. Stiff upper lip. You said it best. She’s like a cactus.”

  Her mum shrugged this off. “She keeps letting me down.”

  Join the club. “I need to pack.”

  Clive and Winston came into the pub. After looking at his sister and then niece, he asked, “Who died?”

  “Josie’s going back to America, and Christmas is only a few days away,” her mum stated, her teeth piercing her bottom lip, probably in hopes of stopping it from quivering.

  Winston waddled over to Josie, and slammed his body into her legs.

  Josie hunched down, “I’m going to miss you too, big guy. So, so, so much.” She burst into tears, holding Winnie close to her.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Harry!” Clive motioned for her to come over to the entrance of the pub.

  Harriet, standing on the bridge, the very one where she’d first seen Josie, detoured toward Clive. “How are you?”

  “Can you believe this weather? It’s the end of February, and I’m drying my sheets outside.” There were no sheets in sight, but Harriet took his word for it. She determined the dark circles under his eyes were the reason why he avoided her question.

  “Me too.” About the sheets and being heartbroken.

  He glanced at the blue sky overhead, and asked without much emotion, “How’s Camilla?”

  Harriet wasn’t buying his cool as a cucumber vibe. She’d also been sworn to secrecy. “Uh, I haven’t seen her lately.”

  “Me neither.”

  Harriet didn’t know what to say, so she asked something she already knew the answer to. “She’s still not responding to your overtures?” She didn’t like the word choice, but other options failed to come to mind.

  “Not a one. What’d I do wrong?” His bravado ebbed.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Not a thing. Cam can be this way.”

  “Can you put in a good word for me? At least tell her I miss her?” His shoulders sagged.

  “Of course. How’s Josie?”

  Clive blew out a breath. “She doesn’t call much. A text here and there to her mum. She’s back to her old ways.”

  “Going Mach speed?”

  “Yep. Eugenie is worried about her.”

  So was Harriet, but what could she do? “Why?”

  “She says it seems different this time.”

  “In what way?”

  Clive hefted one shoulder. “Dunno. Just different. The amount of work hours or whatever.”

  Harriet had feared Josie would do that to herself, remembering her words that she tended to work until she broke. “Well, if you do talk to her, say hi for me.”

  “Are you two not talking at all?” he asked, concern evident in his expression.

  “Not really.”

  “Why is love so painful?” The wounded look in his eyes communicated much more than his words.

  Harriet searched his face, surprised by his question. Was Clive really in love with Camilla? What to do with this knowledge? “I don’t know, but it is.”

  “Your podcast, though. A Shot at Love. It’s all about people beating the odds and finding the one. Doesn’t it give you hope? Hearing all the stories from the people you interview?”

  Not at all, since Harriet’s shot had been so fleeting, yet the lingering pain seemed to be never-ending. “Of course. I better get home. I have a crossword puzzle to finalize.”

  “Don’t be a stranger. I miss talking to you. I know it must be difficult to come to the pub and not see Josie. We can always meet away from here, if you need a friend.”

  How was Clive such a sweetheart given everything? More importantly, how could Harriet convince Camilla he’d make a great father? “Now that the weather is improving, I promise to visit more. I tend to be a hermit during the dark days of winter.” Also, when nursing a broken heart.

  They said their goodbyes, and Harriet headed home. When she opened her front door and walked in, Harriet found Camilla standing in the middle of the room, completely naked.

  “Harry! What are you doing here?” She attempted to cover her bits, but ended up looking like an uncoordinated contortionist, her body still mostly on full display.

  “I live here. What are you doing? Why are you naked in the front room? The shutters are open.” Harriet didn’t know where to look, so she stared at the floor.

  “People can’t see in,” she said in a dismissive tone.

  “Yes, they can. Tourists are constantly peeking inside.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?” she screeched.

  “Didn’t know I had to explain how windows work. Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?” Harriet closed the wood shutters, keeping her back to Camilla.

  “Yoga.”

  “Every woman on the planet owns at least one pair of yoga leggings.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Do you not own a T-shirt?” Harriet pressed.

  “Of course, I own a shirt.”

  “Why aren’t you wearing one?”

  “I get hot. It should be illegal to be pregnant when it’s this hot. You can turn around; I put on a robe.”

  Harriet slowly pivoted to face her cousin. “It’s still winter. Some women are fully pregnant in the summer.” She held out her hands to stress how pregnant Camilla would become.

  “Not the smart ones.”

  Harriet swallowed the comment that Camilla got knocked up by a man she barely knew, which wasn’t entirely fair since Harriet had just left the man who was torn up about Cam not being in touch.

  “Can you go for a walk or something?” Camilla made a shooing motion with her hand.

  “I just got back from a walk, and now you’re asking me to leave again so you can continue to do naked yoga?” Since learning she was pregnant, Camilla had been coming to the village every weekend to be close to Harriet. Or so she said.

  Camilla nodded, not seeming to comprehend the impertinence of her request.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Who’s that?” Camilla hissed.

  Harriet shrugged. “Like you, I don’t have X-ray vision.”

  “Harry! You in there?” It was Clive’s voice.

  Camilla thwacked the back of Harriet’s head.

  Harriet rubbed her head and whispered, “What was that for?”

  “For bringing Clive here.”

  “I didn’t. Stop talking, or he’ll know you’re here.”

  “You aren’t going to answer, are you?”

  Harriet tapped a finger to her lips, not moving toward the door.

  “Harry!” Clive called out louder.

  Camilla clung onto Harriet’s arm.

  Harriet winced in pain. “Nails, Cam. Nails.”

  Not understanding, Camilla dug them deeper into Harriet’s skin.

  Withdrawing footfalls suggested Clive had given up.

  Harriet pried her cousin’s fingers off her arm.

  “Close call.”

  “Do you think of that before you come here every weekend? The possibility of running into the one person you don’t want to see?”

  “Yes, but where else can I go? I don’t want to be alone.” Camilla cradled her belly.

  Harriet regretted her harsh tone. “I’m sorry. You know you’re always welcome here, although we need to discuss the clothing-optional plan, as in that’s not allowed.”

  “You’re such a prude. You know what you need, cousin dear?”

  “To get you yoga outfits.”

  “No, to get laid.”

  Oh, how wrong you are, Camilla. Sleeping with
Josie had opened up Harriet in a way that threatened to do more damage than good. Now, Harriet realized she’d been waiting all her life for a woman like Josie, and her chance at love was as useless as attempting to build a time machine so she could go back in time and tell Josie not to take the job offer.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Josie sat in a cheap hotel desk chair by the open window, vaping. There was a knock on her door. Her eyes sought out the green digits of the chintzy alarm clock on the nightstand. 10:58 at night.

  She rose to her feet, her body resisting the sudden movement after sitting in the chair for the past hour.

  Swinging the door open, Carol held up a bottle of Cooter Brown Ale, by Jekyll Brewing, in each hand. “I come in peace.”

  “How could I possibly turn down a woman offering me a free Cooter?”

  “I knew this would be my way in.” Carol, a stout gray-haired woman in pajamas, robe, and slippers, sidestepped Josie. “Not many can turn me down.”

  “How does your husband feel about your ways?” Josie retook her seat by the open window.

  “He loves my cooter,” the older woman purred in the way that made it perfectly clear she had a healthy sex life when she wasn’t on the campaign trail.

  Josie groaned. “I walked right into that one. Have a seat.” Josie motioned for Carol to choose between the free chair or bed.

  Carol popped the tops of the bottles with the opener on her keychain, handed one to Josie, and then settled on top of the bedspread, her back against the headboard. “When this is all over, I’ll miss these.” She raised the bottle. “Cheers.”

  Josie took a deep swallow. “Why’d you only bring one each?”

  “Because I happen to know you have some in your mini fridge.”

  “Fresh out.”

  “Luckily, my room is right next door.” Carol took another glug. “How are you doing?”

  Josie shrugged. “Not bad. Today was slightly brutal.”

  “It was only a matter of time.”

  Josie sighed. “Every campaign has to bat away some type of smear tactics. You’d think they’d get more creative instead of shouting about an affair that isn’t happening.”

  “But it works so well. Monogamy is so rare.”

  “Have something you want to confess?” Josie took a hit on her vaporizer, causing a plume of smoke, which Josie batted toward the window.

  “I thought you quit smoking.”

  “This is vaping.”

  “God, I love speechwriter types. The way you make things sound so innocent.”

  “Vaping is innocent.” Josie spoke with what she hoped was a confident tone.

  “I doubt your mother would think so.”

  “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Josie looked out the window.

  “And what would your father think?”

  “He’s dead.” Josie spoke more to the dark sky than Carol.

  “I know. I went to his funeral.”

  “We’ve worked on a lot of campaigns together.” Josie’s gaze panned the hotel parking lot. “Did you always want this life?”

  “Living in one cheap hotel after another?”

  “Yeah.” Josie’s chest heaved up and slowly down.

  “Yes and no. There are parts of the job I’m addicted to. It’s like going to the races and laying down a bet on a winner. Except it takes a lot longer to find out if you won or lost. Wouldn’t it be great if we knew in under five minutes whether or not we were on the right side? That would probably ruin the fun, though.”

  “How do you define the right side?” Josie drank heavily from the bottle.

  Carol chuckled, sounding more evil than happy. “There isn’t an easy answer to that. The pols we work for are so very human. We have to know everything about our candidate. Even things their loved ones don’t necessarily know or want to know. And then we have to work our butts off to get them elected even with the knowledge we have.”

  Josie nodded thoughtfully.

  Carol sighed.

  “What don’t you like?” Josie asked.

  “Being away from home so much. Mike and I never had kids because I went all in for the job. I was lucky to have a husband who supported that decision.” Carol tilted her beer bottle so she could stare into it. “Now that I’m nearing sixty, I wonder if I made a mistake.”

  “About not having kids?”

  “Y-yeah,” she stuttered. “But too late. Everything is shriveled up now.” She laughed, circling a hand over her female parts. “And the hot flashes have subsided mostly.”

  Josie remained quiet.

  Carol pointed her bottle at Josie. “You were brilliant earlier.”

  “I’m not all the time?” Josie joked.

  “Oh, you are, which is why I insisted the campaign hire you. But today was especially clever. The way you mocked the press for tarnishing a good woman like she was a woman of the night simply because she’s young and beautiful. I can’t remember everything you came up with on the spot, but the way you spun it to get them on the backs of their heels. It was a brilliant stroke, considering.”

  Josie’s grin was hollow, as she remembered Harry’s opinion of political spin doctors.

  Carol took another long tug of her drink.

  “What do you mean considering?” Josie braced for the answer she suspected was true but didn’t really want to know. There had been a time when she pried a lot more about her candidates, but this time around, she just wanted to do her job without getting her hands dirty.

  “Considering our sainted candidate is having an affair.”

  Josie’s mouth went completely dry, and her shoulders slumped forward.

  Carol lowered the bottle from her lips. “You didn’t know.”

  Josie shook her head in slow motion. “I wasn’t one hundred percent positive. A sliver of me held out hope.”

  “Gawd, I wish I was your age again and still believed in people.”

  Josie didn’t really, but wasn’t it possible for one person to be honorable? Just one? “I wish I was your age and had stopped believing.”

  “Are you okay? Your face has gone completely white like you’re about to puke.”

  Josie wanted to do just that to get all the shit out. Deep down, she knew it wouldn’t really help. It might feel good for a minute, but it didn’t change the facts. Harry had let her go. Josie was back in the States doing a job she’d lost passion for. And she didn’t know what to do. “I’m fine. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I should know everything so I can craft appropriate responses.” Might as well do her best to sound professional, because that was all she had left.

  “I really thought you knew. Or maybe a part of me wanted to protect you this time around. You know better than most that finding out the truth about anyone is a dangerous business if you want to be able to respect any human being walking this miserable earth.”

  “Do you respect anyone?”

  “Besides you?”

  Josie’s eyes darted heavenward, and she let out a bark of laughter. “You’re such a con artist.”

  “It’s my job.”

  Josie nodded in agreement. “Did you ever believe there was more to this? Like we were taking part in bettering peoples’ lives?”

  “In the beginning. Or probably before I ever worked on a campaign. It doesn’t take long to get jaded in politics.”

  “I think it took longer for me.” Josie’s shrug confessed she was a chump.

  “That’s because you’re a believer. It’s what makes you so good at your job. It’s also what will destroy you.”

  “Why’d you bring me back into it?” Josie asked with sincerity.

  “The campaign needs you to win. If she does, in eight years, she’s going to be sitting at the Resolute desk in the Oval Office. I thought you’d want to play a role.” Carol set the bottle on the nightstand. “I know the news she isn’t perfect is hitting you hard, but given that knowledge, she’s still the politician I believe in. No one is perfect. No one is close to perf
ection. But, at the end of the day, I’m glad to be on her side fighting for this job. I think she can make a difference. Or at least not screw up things as much as the other side.”

  “It’s funny. The word lie is right in the middle of believe. As if the word gods never wanted us to truly believe in anything.”

  “Please tell me the news didn’t break you. Not only do we need you, but I don’t want to participate in wrecking you beyond repair. If I had a daughter, I’d want her to fall head over heels in love with you.”

  “Like love exists!” Josie scoffed. She pointed her beer bottle around the room. “This is life. Everything is temporary.”

  Carol took in a deep breath. “Are you ever going to tell me what or who you ran away from?”

  “What gives you that idea?” Josie hardened her voice to make it as convincing as possible.

  “I saw it in your face when you arrived here. I’ve known you since you were wet behind the ears.”

  Josie took another hit, not bothering to sweep away the smoke this time.

  “You must be in pain if you can’t even put it into words.”

  Josie didn’t take the bait.

  “I’ve been addicted to this new podcast called A Shot at Love. This woman interviews someone who has lost the love of their life, either from death or a breakup, and she’s able to get the person to really open up. Most of the time, I’m bawling, thinking love is so beautiful but knowing not everyone on the planet is brave enough to let themselves fall completely. So many are too scared. Or too busy chasing things that are illusionary.”

  “Like what?”

  “Having a career complete you.”

  “Did you grab onto your shot with Mike, or was there someone else?” “I grabbed on. It’s the best thing I ever did. It makes this”—she waved to the cheap furnishings in the room—“bearable.”

  Josie’s eyes traveled through the room, taking in the oil painting knockoffs, battered dresser that listed to the side, and finally landing on the carpet that Josie was afraid to walk on barefoot, thinking she’d contract a life-threatening disease. “So, it’s possible to hold on.”

  “I’m living proof. After this, why don’t you come spend a few days with me and Mike. We’ll help you see the way.”